


Stumbeline

by sidnihoudini



Category: Good Charlotte
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-19
Updated: 2006-03-19
Packaged: 2017-11-26 03:45:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/646193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidnihoudini/pseuds/sidnihoudini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s good to see you again, Benji,” Joel finally says, voice soft like his eyes as Benji takes one more drag.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stumbeline

He’d been invited to the fucking thing on business, or more like ‘ordered’ after Marcus copped out, and his boss threatened with the cancellation of one of his major accounts. So he fucking bit the bullet and bucked up, bought a new suit with the company’s credit card, and made sure he picked the fundraiser tickets up from Evelyn The Secretary’s desk before leaving for the weekend.

And so now here he was: hovering around the catering table, scowling into his flute (a fucking flute -- if he felt any gayer he’s sure he’d be Peter Pan) of ginger ale. Somehow this has turned into the epitome of The One Friday Night Off. Not that he minded working, it wasn’t like he had much of anything else to do anyways, when you didn’t count the PowerPoint presentations chilling on his laptop.

So around the time he started mentally listing the PowerPoints saved on his computer was the time Benji wanted to bend over and kick his own ass. Shaking his head, he stole a grape from the fruit (fruit) platter, and disappeared into a clique of women wearing their little black dresses, all doing that stupid cackle laugh which Benji only associated with things that weren’t that funny at all. Fucking women. All of them.

Benji has a lot of resentment for someone who’s only twenty four.

“Ben!” Someone calls from behind him. ‘Ben’ just hopes it isn’t Fucking Steve from accounting trying another lame attempt at conversation. Putting on his best showcase smile, Benji turns around and promptly drops his grape into the flute of ginger ale. Fuck. “It is you! Damn boy, I thought Marcus was attending tonight!”

Not Steve from accounting. Unfortunately Michael from public relations isn’t much better.

“His mother had a stroke or something,” Benji smiles, politely nodding in the general direction of the woman standing on Michael’s right. Sister. Cousin? Some kind of blood relative, they have the same nose and chin. “So I’m filling in. Actually, I was just about to go have a cigarette.”

Michael nods and says something to the effect of, “I hear you, I hear you,” even though he doesn’t. Benji’s just glad he didn’t say ‘So, working hard, or hardly working?’ Raising his eyebrows, Benji nods. He wants to look down at his grape in the ginger ale to see what’s happening, but also kind of doesn’t want to draw attention to the fact that he’s got a grape in his ginger ale in the first place.

“So, listen man. I’ll see you ‘round,” Benji says, smirking with half his mouth as he repeats the nodded salutation to Michael’s un-introduced lady friend. She grins back at him and waves with her stupid skeleton fingers even though Benji’s only standing two feet away at the absolute most. He holds her gaze for too long and has the terrifying realization that she probably wants to fuck him.

Benji offers a polite, “Gotta piss,” and makes a quick exit.

…

He’s halfway through his second cigarette when he realizes he’s been sitting in some kind of puddle, and in turn the ass of his suit has been effectively stained. Grumbling, he shifts around on the step and takes a deep drag, feeling around for the puddle’s originator. He gives up when he hears the door behind him crack open, and dress shoes squeak against the concrete stairs. Whoever it is exhales, and Benji just hopes it’s not Michael’s relative coming to offer some kind of frottage.

“Fuck. It’s suffocating in there,” The person breathes, and Benji pauses in his staring at nothing to twist his upper body around and look up. Some guy is standing under the poor excuse for a back light, and jumps when Benji looks at him. “Holy shit, I didn’t see you sitting there. You scared me.”

Benji shrugs and turns back around, taking one final drag before he flicks his cigarette to the ground. The orange ash sizzles out against the wet concrete upon impact. Benji figures it must’ve rained while he was inside, and hopes that the valet guy parked his car underground.

“No way!” He hears from behind him, and at first Benji thinks the guy is just talking to himself, but then he steps closer and asks, “Benji?”

Looking back over his shoulder, Benji squints through the muddy light that the lamp above them is barely throwing, and tries to distinguish a feature or two on this guy. All that he can see are a pair of pursed lips, and a face full of shaggy dark hair.

“I am,” Benji nods, words careful and questioning. He kind of wonders if he should make a move to stand up and shake the guy’s hand, but then the person is sitting down next to him instead. Looks familiar, Benji knows that he’s seen the face before, but he can’t place the name. Fuck, a name.

Benji’s fucking _job_ is to remember names.

“Wow. _Wow._ I haven’t seen you in a long time. Since, uh. Well. It’s been a long time.”

Joel. Benji’s mind reels and clicks, snaps into place on track and throws him round the proverbial bend, because this is Joel, fucking _Joel_ , maker of the best pancakes in the world, breaker of all Benji shaped hearts.

“Joel.”

He grins, this lopsided smile that is made of a crooked bottom lip and funny shaped teeth. Joel shrugs and scratches behind his ear, and there’s an uncomfortable silence for a moment, before Joel fills it by motioning over to the pack of cigarettes near Benji’s foot.

“You smoke now, huh?” He asks.

Benji glances over at the pack. _And I bet you quit._ Shrugs, “Well. It’s been a while.”

“Things change,” Joel agrees.

Pursing his lips, Benji decides not to say anything to that. Instead he grabs the pack of cigarettes and pulls one out single handedly, bites it between his lips and fumbles around for his lighter. Mouth half closed, he still manages to say, “I thought you wanted to be a writer, what are you doing here?”

“Turns out I’m legally retarded without spell check,” Joel snickers, glancing over at Benji from the corner of his eyes. He pauses and then reconsiders, shrugging. “Or at least dyslexic.”

Benji rolls his eyes, and reaches a hand inside of his jacket. Can’t remember where he stored the lighter last. Fuck. “And the line between retarded and dyslexic is a fine one to ride, I’m sure.”

“Since when did you become easy to offend?” Joel badgers, lightly elbowing Benji’s side, smiling despite himself as he forgets the circumstances that surrounded the last time they physically saw each other.

Shaking his head, Benji finds the lighter in his shirt pocket and explains, “I’m not offended.”

“Sorry. I never know when to stop talking,” Joel shrugs. Then as an afterthought, decides to add, “I’m here with my boyfriend. I don’t work for the company or anything.”

Flicking the trigger on the lighter, Benji waits for it to ignite. It does on the third try, but Benji still figures he should invest in a better make. What the fuck ever though, right, BIC comes in so many colors he’s really hard pressed to care about function.

“Yeah, well,” He shrugs, glancing at Joel. “I remember that personality trait well.”

Joel grins lopsidedly again, and looks out at the street before returning to Benji and teasing, voice soft, “So you’re still a dick, huh?”

“Pretty much,” Benji nods.

Still smiling, Joel wipes his palms on the knees of his dress pants and heaves himself up and off of the step, standing near Benji at crotch-to-eye-level. As Benji pulls back, he nods and rests his hands on his hips. “Good. Cause I’m still an introvert.”

“And introverts are known for liking dicks?” Benji asks, looking up with narrowed eyes.

Joel laughs and nods, pauses to watch the way that Benji takes a drag of the cigarette, holding it in to let the smoke resonate in his lungs. He holds it in for a few beats before he exhales through his nose.

“It’s good to see you again, Benji,” Joel finally says, voice soft like his eyes as Benji takes one more drag.

And as Joel is moving back up the steps and into the party, Benji exhales over his shoulder and replies through smoke, “Likewise.”

…

He sits on the stoop outside the gold function for a long time, his memory triggered and ready to flash back to places he had always figured he just kind of forgot about. Because he remembers Joel. He almost didn’t at first -- Joel looks older, his skin is tanned and he the frames of his glasses have changed. Benji may not have remembered him at first, but he does now.

And the funny thing is, that what he remembers most is the way that Joel used to be.

…

I. The First Meeting  
 _But you might just be the little bomb at their side._

“What the _fuck_? Why the fuck -- how in the fuck --- get the fuck out. We don’t sell that Euro trash pop shit here, man,” He’s arguing, has the customer around the waist as he tries to pull them out of the store. The customer is throwing his own version of the revolt, and has her hands locked around the inside of the door frame.

Joel hides behind a rack full of Lesbians on Ecstasy albums to avoid confrontation, glancing over at the other guy sitting behind the front counter. He’s reading some lame ‘zine, oblivious to the entire situation.

“Hey asshole. You’re supposed to be pulling in new customers, not throwing old ones out,” He finally calls, though he still doesn’t look up from the handful of blue paper he’s slowly wading through. Joel’s never been that big of a reader either. When the customer hits the cement outside the record store and squawks, he finally looks away and glances over at the door. “Beej, man! You got to learn to chill dude!”

Mouth curled into some lewd proposition, Benji throws a combination of fingers at the chick as she picks herself up and swears some more, staggering back and forth in tight pants and a tighter shirt before the door is closed in her face, bells jangling.

“I’m not endorsing that shit! Forget it, David,” Benji snaps, point a finger over at the guy sitting behind the counter. “And you, you fuck. You do nothing but encourage them. _Oh, I promise I’ll order that album for you next week. We fucking love HIM._ Jesus Christ.”

David rolls his eyes and leans back in the creaky vinyl chair, kicking his feet up on the counter to read the no doubt fascinating article that he’s immersed himself in during the last ten minutes.

“You,” Benji catches Joel staring at him before he can look away. “What are you buying?”

_I don’t know._

He holds up a CD and wonders how the skin on Benji’s wrist tastes.

“Mineral? Fuck. You probably like Death Cab too, don’t you,” Benji accuses, leaning against the front counter on one sharp hip. Eyes arctic, David looks up from the counter and at Benji before he motions to Joel.

He waves him over to the cash register and tries to slap Benji away with the ‘zine.

“Come here, kid. Unlike my employee, I enjoy it when people purchase new music.”

Joel smirks at Benji as he walks by, and places the shrink wrapped CD on the sticky front counter. Benji holds the gaze level with his own pair of wicked eyes, slicking tongue over front teeth before disappearing into the back supply room. Joel watches him go.

 

II. The First Fuck  
 _Falling bombs are shooting stars sometimes._

Joel finds himself with his face pressed against an advertisement-covered wall in the back room of October Records, gasping and twisting and trying to push back but pull forward at the same time. His forehead sticks to the paper as he pulls away, tugging it forward with him as he moves.

“Fuck,” He grits out, teeth pressed together in the same way that his nose is pressed back against a homemade flier for the new Beck album. Benji’s hand jerks from Joel’s hips to smack flat against the paper, and for a second Joel tries hard to concentrate on the chipped black nail polish decorating Benji’s fingers, but gives up with he feels something twist and connect and. And oh, fuck.

Benji presses his forehead against the back of Joel’s neck, letting the hand that isn’t palm against the wall wrap around Joel’s stomach to pull him tighter against his body. Joel can feel the ring in Benji’s nipple press into his shoulder blade as Benji moves his face to the back of Joel’s ear. 

He manages to grind out, “What did you say your name was again?”

_I don’t know._

“Joel. Joel,” He groans, body jerking as Benji speeds up.

Nodding, Benji slides his forehead down to rest against a star tattooed shoulder as he murmurs, voice as rough as his hips, “Joel.”

 

III. The First [Real] Moment  
 _Rocket boy, you burn so bright._

“You stalking me now?”

Joel glances up when he hears the words, stubbing his cigarette out against the curb before he moves to stand. He brushes the cement dust from the legs of his corduroys.

“Hardly,” He replies, looking up to watch as Benji finishes locking the front door of the record shop, his own bundle of vinyl carefully concealed under one arm. “I was wondering if you wanted to go get a drink or something.”

A flash of a smile and Benji shakes his head, kicking the bottom of the door for good measure before he moves away and down the sidewalk, towards where Joel is standing with his hands deep in his pockets.

“Maybe I don’t drink,” He smirks, reaching up to tug the ear flaps of his cheap hat down. Joel wrinkles his nose against the sudden gust of cold Winter air that whips past them both, and shrugs. He watches the way the wind catches the pieces of Benji’s hair that are across his forehead, and not tucked under his hat.

Benji’s still watching him, eyes careful as he says, “Yeah, you’re right. Maybe you don’t.” Joel pauses, then, and a crooked grin creeps over his lips as he finishes, “Except that it’s total bullshit, because you totally do. Come on. And by the way, since when does _anyone_ turn down free beer?”

“Since I’m an alcoholic?” Benji laughs despite himself as he turns to walk down the sidewalk, feeling lucky that his apartment is only a few blocks away.

Joel hurries to catch up, hands stuffed in his pockets.

“And I don’t expect you to change!” Joel exasperates, an accent that Benji has never heard before turning certain words into a version of an odd twang. He catches up to Benji’s long strides and falls into step, bumping their shoulders together. “One beer. One beer isn’t going to hurt, Benji. It’s only one.”

Benji stops and turns around, stares Joel in the eyes for a moment before a smirk crawls its way across his face, the corners of his lips twitching as he glances down the empty street, and then back at the face in front of him. Joel beams.

“You’re doing this all wrong, you know,” He finally explains, reaching up to adjust his hat.

Joel raises his eyebrows and smiles. “Oh yeah? And how so?”

“I fucked you, and you’re just now offering me a drink?” Benji asks, tweaking the collared flap on Joel’s jacket before he turns to start walking again. “What makes you think that for a second you even remotely interest me beyond that?”

_I don’t know._

Joel starts walking again, and catches up in record time. “Because I can see it in your eyes.”

“Oh yeah?” Benji laughs, glancing over. “And what do my eyes say, exactly?”

Reaching up to steal the hat from Benji’s head, Joel sets it on his own and smirks. “That you want to fuck me again.” He pauses when Benji tries not to laugh, and moves to grab Benji’s wrist, to stop him from going any further. Joel walks in front of him, coming nose to nose to look right into those eyes. He wiggles his eyebrows, making a dramatic show of his facial expressions before explaining, “And also that you’re totally shitting me about being an alcoholic.”

“Well, sorry to break it to you, but you’re wrong,” Benji replies, taking the hat back and almost dropping his vinyl in the process. Joel laughs and shakes his head as they start walking again, this time in step with each other. Joel tries not to land on any cracks. Bad luck. “Very wrong.”

Joel shakes his head and goes to elbow Benji once more, but has his plans foiled when Benji ducks away, laughing. He still says, “I’m telling you, I’m never wrong.”

“You might be this time,” Benji mouths, grinning over his shoulder.

 

IV. The First Argument  
 _I’m in love with what you can’t be, baby._

“Don’t you dare give me that fucking bullshit, you cynical asshole!” Joel shouts, snatching a t-shirt from the foot of the mattress and pulling it over his head. It’s a size too big which means it’s Benji’s. He steps over a pile of scattered loose leaf paper and empty cartons from Chinese take out, and tracks Benji down by listening to the cupboards being slammed closed and yanked back open.

He finds Benji in the kitchen, looking for ‘some _fucking_ food.’

“What is your goddamned problem lately?” Joel snaps, shoving past Benji to grab the coffee maker, unplugged on the counter and sitting in a shallow puddle of water. “And what the _fuck_ are you looking for?”

_I don’t know._

Benji slams the last cupboard closed, and it bangs louder than the other ones did. It makes Joel jump, almost knocks the coffee pot out of his hands.

“I don’t fucking know, Joel!” He yells, voice sharp and echoing off of the near empty kitchen. Joel runs a hand through his hair and tries not to look at the mess in front of him. Benji yanks open the cutlery drawer and shouts, “That’s the fucking problem, I don’t _know_!”

Laughing nervously to himself, Joel moves over to the sink to fill the coffee pot. Twists the tap on, and jerks the pot underneath the water, muttering the entire time it’s slowly filling up with off color water. A long string that sounds a lot like, “You’re fucking neurotic. Fucking _neurotic_ , Benji.”

By the time he’s positioned himself at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and the employment section of the newspaper, he’s desperately fighting to block out Benji in the other room as he punches holes in the bathroom walls.

 

V. The First Apology  
 _I’ll be broke before you’re better, baby._

Joel has counted nine distinct holes in his bathroom wall when Benji comes home that night, totally drunk off of his ass and smelling like the bottom of a bourbon bottle.

“I’m sorry,” Benji drunk sobs, body turning up on the doorstep and walking sideways, with eyes that are dark and bleary and wet. Joel leans against the inside of the doorframe as he notices the split lip that has run rivers of blood down Benji’s chin. One is horizontal, which means he was either knocked down or passed out. Probably both. “I’m sorry, I mean it. Joel.”

Pushing away from the door frame, Joel untangles his arms and nods, stepping forward to steady Benji by the waist. Benji manages to make it over the threshold before he starts to lean to the side, temple pressed against the wallpapered foyer. Joel manages to steady him long enough to get the front door closed, but they fall twice on route to the bedroom.

“I love you, I swear it. I swear I do,” Benji is begging, half passed out against Joel’s shoulder, awkwardly hanging on to his hip despite the fact he’s bigger and heavier and more awkward to move than anything Joel has ever touched before in his life. “Joel. Joel, you know I do. Forever.”

_I don’t know, Benji._

“Come on Benj. Come on. Lay down,” He whispers, heaving Benji’s dead weight body over to the edge of his mattress laying on the floor. When Benji’s close enough to not hit the wooden planks of the floor Joel lets go, watches as the limp body freefalls into the mountains of pillows and blankets, blankets that are white with a few patches of wear. Joel kneels down and grabs Benji by the shoulders, rolls him onto his side and leans down to look into his bloodshot red eyes. “I’m going to get a face cloth to clean your lip. Okay? Benji. I’ll be right back.”

Benji groans and shakes his head, reaching one hand in the wrong direction.

“You can’t ever leave me,” He murmurs, voice rough and cracked like dry skin.

Pressing a kiss against the corner of Benji’s alcohol abused mouth, Joel nods out of habit and bushes a hand through Benji’s head of green hair, letting his fingers linger on the familiar feeling of his scalp beneath them.

“I’ll be right back. Right back, Benji. I swear.”

Joel pulls away and pushes himself up from his knees to move towards the bathroom, functioning like a zombie as he rests against the cold shower stall door. His eyes are closed as he presses his forehead against the cool metal, the smell of mold from the tiles rampant. He can hear Benji coughing in the other room, groaning and rolling around, his heavy boots hitting the ground every time he moves too far. One deep breath and Joel pushes away from the shower, takes a clean cloth from the shelf and ignores the holes in the wall just long enough to let warm water soak through the threadbare cloth.

When he gets back to the bedroom Benji has completely rolled off of the mattress, and is laying on the floor flat on his back, gasping and choking for air. Joel feels his own stomach drop, and it only takes him a second before he rushes over to kneel back down. He manages to get one arm hooked around Benji’s shoulders so he can sit him up. Benji coughs and hacks for a too long moment, his eyes closed and cheeks track marked with a mixture of tears, dirt and dried blood.

“Do you remember who it was you got in a fight with?” Joel asks, voice soft as he presses the cloth against Benji’s left cheek, the one that seems worse. Benji doesn’t cringe, not like he used to. Doesn’t fight it. Instead he remains stoic, static and staring straight ahead as Joel gently wipes the skin of his face clean. He manages to get the majority of the blood from his lip in the process.

Benji opens his eyes and then closes them again as he begins to drift off, body relaxing and slumping forward. Joel shifts slightly, which jerks him back awake, eyes wide as his head snaps up, pupils dilated.

“I’m going back to school,” He offers, voice slurred as he tries to look over at Joel. Joel wipes his neck clean but can’t see past the tattoos, and presses his mouth against Benji’s right shoulder. “Are you listening to me?” He sounds vaguely anxious, but Joel chalks that one up to the sheer amount of alcohol in his system. “I will, Joel. I will. I can change. I’ll change for you.”

Joel nods against Benji’s shoulder and blinks back tears, knowing he’s lost the fight.

“I believe you, Benj,” He whispers, and kisses the side of Benji’s neck

 

VI. The First Apartment  
 _And look like pink decorations in our crystal meth tuxedos._

“Benj. They don’t hate you,” Joel promises, glancing up from where he’s been painstakingly arranging the order of mismatched dinner plates. Benji glares over from where he stands by the table, arms crossed and body completely opposed to the situation.

He snorts and says, “No fucking wonder. I’m not exactly from the dinner party crowd, Joel.”

“You’re fine Benj,” Joel replies, now only half listening as he picks the plate stack up and carries them over to the half dressed table. He sets them in the center and then steps back, pausing to scratch behind the back of his ear before he does anything else. Benji knows that ‘scratching behind the ear’ is actually Joel speak for ‘I’m really fucking nervous, Benji.’ Joel glances over and says, “They’ll love you. I do.”

Benji scowls and mutters, “Doubt it.”

“Just shut up,” Joel murmurs, glancing up. “Please, Benj. Just for once.”

Pushing himself away from the chipped dining room wall, Benji nods and uncrosses his arms, crosses them again before shrugging and making a quick exit. Joel hears him heading towards the bedroom, and figures he’s going to pass out on the bed.

But when he comes out ten minutes later, his thrift store suit has been traded for a worn pair of plaid pants, and a t-shirt that Joel instantly identifies as his own. Without saying anything more than, “Don’t wait up,” Benji ducks out the front door and narrowly misses running into Joel’s friends in the lobby.

When the small group knocks on the front door to Benji and Joel’s First Apartment Together, they find Joel sitting alone at the dining room table, candles unlit in front of him with tears in his eyes. The appropriately dramatic scene for an equally dramatic setting.

(Benji comes back, as he always does, later that night. At first Joel is surprised that he can’t smell the strong scent of booze on Benji’s breath, and wonders if Benji has gotten better at hiding it -- or if he himself has just gotten more talented at pretending that it isn’t there. Benji apologizes, like he always does, pressing his open mouth to the hollow of Joel’s throat, sore from crying and complaining as they lay across the bed.

He says, “I’m sorry, you know I’m sorry Joel. I just get so restless. I’m sorry this time.”

Joel will quietly think _I don’t know_ before he whispers, “It’s okay, Benj. I promise. It’s okay.”)

 

VII. The Second Argument  
 _You are second hand smoke._

Joel stops buying cigarettes the same morning Benji drops his major and loses his job at October. Funnily enough, the overly high stress situation does nothing more than make Joel chew his nails down to nubs: he doesn’t need nicotine, no way.

“Well did you apologize to him?” Joel asks, looking small as he sits at the kitchen table with piles of overdue bills and old newspapers stacked around him. To Benji, he looks like something drawn by Edward Gorey, all blackened eyes and drawn in mouth.

But instead of saying it, Benji closes the door on the fridge harder than necessary and drops a bowl of leftover spaghetti onto the already crowded table. Joel glances down at the food and then back up to Benji, lips tight and jaw clenched.

“David’s an asshole,” Benji spits.

Opening his mouth, Joel goes to say something, before thinking better of the situation and closing it instead. He watches Benji as he looks for a clean fork, poking through the full sink and opening drawer after drawer. Joel exhales, voice calm as he says, “Benji, it’s his business. He loses money when you pull that shit on his customers.”

“I don’t fucking care,” Benji snaps, finding a fork behind the kettle. “Fuck off.”

Joel’s eyes widen as he stares up at Benji, dumbfounded with his hands flat and open against the table. He says, “I’m not going to fuck off,” Pauses before, “What the hell is wrong with you lately, Benji?”

_I don’t know._

“I fucking told you Joel, I told you straight out,” Benji starts to grumble, wiping the fork clean on the leg of his pants. He looks over at Joel as he sits down at the table and begins to peel the saran wrap off of the bowl. “I told you right from the beginning. You didn’t listen, and that’s your fault,” The saran wrap is tossed onto the table in the form of a wet ball as he narrows his eyes at Joel. “Your fucking fault. Not. Mine.”

Joel grimaces at the situation and shakes his head. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. It’s my fault that you come home every second night with half of the bones in your face smashed in, and it’s my fault that you dropped the one business ethics class you managed to hold onto because you were _bored_.” Joel pushes himself away from the table, and throws one tired hand up into the air as he says, “Poor baby Benji, twenty years old with no mommy to look after him.”

“Fuck you Joel,” Benji scowls, shoveling a heap of pasta into his mouth. “You can leave any time, I don’t own you. You don’t owe me anything.”

Joel laughs and shakes his head, leans back against the counter with his hips and snaps, “If I left you, you’d end up dead. Or worse.”

“What would be so wrong with that?” Benji asks, smiling up at Joel, face full of sarcasm. The smile turns into a scowl as he shakes his head and leans down to take another mouthful. It’s too spicy, hurts his mouth but he won’t complain.

Groaning, Joel pushes himself away from the counter and moves back over to the table, stopping to shuffle through the endless stack of everything that lays on top of it. He sighs like he’s tired and whispers, “I don’t know why I argue anymore.”

“Me neither.”

At those words Joel chews his bottom teeth and whispers, “Help me. Benji, please.”

Benji glances up, then, across the table and over at Joel. Joel, who’s watching him with those fucking eyes and that fucking mouth and those fucking ears. And he knows that something is different this time, in this instant, because he can feel the alcohol in his veins rotting his skin and turning it inside out, until everything that was inside of him is laying on the cold tiled floor instead. Displayed for Joel to see even though he feels like he has nothing to give.

“What?” He asks, eyebrows raised and lips sauce red.

Joel scratches the back of his neck and squeezes his eyes closed tight as he shrugs his shoulders, and between them it’s silent for a moment, the only sound of the water dripping outside resonating through them before he asks, “What is it that I have to do to get through to you?”

“I don’t know.”

Laughing, Joel nods and starts to push away from the table. He runs another hand through his hair and shrugs, “I’m tired, Benji. I…” He groans and lets his hands ball into fists, leaving them at his sides as he exclaims, feeling like a petulant child, “Fuck! Benji I don’t think I can do this anymore!”

And those words were what Benji had been expecting all along, anyways. He smiles, and it’s sad at the edges because he feels the sting in his chest, and pushes himself away from the table. Joel watches him disappear into the bedroom.

“Fuck,” Joel whispers to the empty room, rubbing his face with the palm of his hands, letting his features pull and stretch until he feels his skin ache. He stays still for a moment, watching the white wall across from him glare until he feels his legs shift and all of a sudden he’s walking over to the bedroom.

When he sees Benji balanced on the edge of the bed, pink spotted head in his hands, he feels his resolution as it begins to crumble for the last time. Fucking knows that it’s completely gone, utterly gone when he steps over the threshold and into the bedroom.

He kneels between Benji’s legs and rests his ear against Benji’s chest, and he just repeats that over in his head -- Benji, Benji, Benji, Benji -- because he knows he won’t be able to for much longer. He listens for something, his ear pressed against Benji’s chest, he listens for anyone who’s inside, he listens for them to tell him what to do.

“I’m sorry I don’t know how to change, Joel,” Benji whispers, one hand ghosting on the back of Joel’s hand so briefly before he pulls it away. “You know I am.”

_I don’t know, Benji._

 

VII. The Last Night  
 _Pick one and cut, it just doesn’t matter anymore._

“Would you change everything, if you could?” Joel asks, fingers grazing Benji’s forehead as they lay in the dark, still as the only light streams in through the window. It plays patterns across Benji’s back, blue strips and yellow spots.

_I don’t know._

Benji blinks slowly, lets his eyes close as he feels Joel’s shoulder against his cheek. He murmurs, voice rough from not speaking, “I don’t regret anything.”

“Nothing?” Joel whispers, and he finds his eyes beginning to drift away from the ceiling.

The grip that Benji’s fingers have around Joel’s hip bones tighten, they tighten until he gives up on pulling Joel inside of him and begins to shift around instead. Lets his head rest against the corner of Joel’s, his mouth touching the side of Joel’s jaw. Joel rolls to the side and watches Benji’s face -- Benji’s fucking face with Benji’s fucking pierced lips that Joel wishes he could tie closed, Benji’s fucking face with its resident green brown eyes, and Benji’s fucking face with its chin and forehead and cheeks.

Benji’s fucking everything.

“I don’t regret you,” Benji whispers, his lips touching the side of Joel’s face as he talks.

Still breathing, Joel nods softly and says, “I’ll never regret this, Benji. I won’t.”

Benji stretches to wrap his arms around Joel’s body and hugs tight, pressing his face into the muscle of his neck, trying not to tell himself that this is the last time. He knows it, though. Everything inside of him knows that this is it, the last round to a series of breaking up.

And when he realizes it for sure, he whispers, “I wish we could freeze time.”

“We can,” Joel murmurs, shifting to look at Benji’s face.

Shaking his head, Benji rests his fingers against the warm skin on Joel’s stomach, loves Joel’s warm skin because of the way it smells and the way he’s so pliable and the way he just never closed down even if Benji was locked up.

“It’s impossible to stay static forever.”

Crawling out from under the six foot deep blankets, Joel climbs on top of Benji’s torso and watches his face. His eyes are red because he’s been crying, and all he knows is that he’s glad Benji didn’t hear him over the sound of the water running in the shower.

But Benji did.

“I’d try anything, Benj,” He whispers, hand on the top of Benji’s head.

Shifting, Benji rests his fingers on Joel’s hip. Relaxed. “I know. I know you would.”

“Will you miss me?”

Benji watches Joel’s face and chews his bottom lip, ring uncomfortably clinking against his teeth as Joel leans down, presses his nose flat against Benji’s cheek. As he’s pulling back he focuses in on Benji’s face, but it’s too close and he goes cross-eyed for a second.

“Every second I remember you, I will,” Benji answers, fingers suddenly in Joel’s hair.

Joel leans close again, his mouth pressed open against Benji’s chin as he asks, “Will you remember me?”

“I’m going to try not to.”

Joel nods, shifting down to rest the side of his head on Benji’s chest, moving up and down to the time of his breath. Joel hesitates for a moment, then reaches up to rest his hand level with his mouth, fingers lightly drumming on Benji’s tattooed but pale skin.

“I want to forget everything about you, too.”

 

VIII. The Moment Before the Last  
 _Fight like hell to hide that I’m giving up._

“I thought I could wake up and everything would be different. Okay,” Joel whispers, body hidden beneath an endless amount of heavy blankets and pillows. Beside him Benji closes his eyes and inhales through his nose, breathing everything around him. “I know that’s stupid. I know it is.”

Benji nods, keeping his eyes closed. “Nothing will change until you alter it yourself.”

“Are you going to go back to school?” Joel asks, and thinks that if Benji does, if Benji does maybe he’ll stop drinking then, and maybe they’d meet again. And if they meet again, maybe they’d know each other under better circumstances, and under better circumstances maybe they would be good together. Great. Maybe they would be okay, just okay would be fine with Joel, as long as they weren’t like fireworks -- either safe in wrapped plastic, or live and exploding like a bomb.

A shrug. Benji rolls over in the bed, and tightens the blankets around his chest. _We’ll keep the outside out,_ Joel thinks. _It’ll be just me and you, Benj, me and you in a world that we make for ourselves._

“I don’t know.” He sighs. “I don’t fucking know.”

Joel nods because he knows those words, nods and chews his thumb, turning over so they’re face to face again. Benji’s eyes are a brighter shade of green than brown when they’re against the white sheets, and it makes Joel’s stomach hurt to see Benji watching him with such soft eyes.

“Maybe you could talk to Dave…” He tries, trailing off because he can’t think of anything else that sounds appropriate to say.

Benji snorts into his pillowcase and shakes his head. “I don’t want to. Hey, maybe I’ll just leave, disappear. Go to Europe and live in a hostel.”

He’s quiet for a moment, Joel is, sniffs because his allergies have been so fucking irritable this morning, and shrugs, trying to laugh through the way his voice wavers when he talks. He feels Benji shifting on the mattress next to him, and for a second he wishes that everything could have been different. If things had been different, maybe they could have made more sense.

“So maybe I think I’m going to miss you,” Joel whispers, finally, his voice still wavering despite his best intentions. But Benji has always had the worst intentions when he was concerned.

Benji shakes his head, his hair is all matted at the side from the pillow, and Joel hates that thinking about stupid little things like that make him sad. “Maybe you need to forget.”

“Maybe I won’t be able to,” He counters, voice dangerously wobbly.

Licking his bottom lip, Benji is quiet for a moment before he says, “Maybe you have to.”

“Did you drink yesterday?” Joel asks, abrupt and with a voice stronger than he thought it would be. 

Benji shakes his head and starts to sit up, pushing the blankets away from his body and over to Joel’s side. Joel feels like he’s drowning as the cheap bed in a bag falls against him, and for a second he’s afraid that he’ll be lost. He reaches out and grabs the side of Benji’s arm before he gets too far away, to a point where Joel wouldn’t be able to remember or feel anything anymore. He tries to pull him back.

“Joel,” Benji whispers, and it’s only then that Joel realizes that the reason Benji is moving is because he’s starting to get the syndrome of shaky voice as well.

Still holding onto Benji’s arm, Joel sits up and pushes the blankets away. They fall off the bed and against the damp floor of their cheap apartment as Joel leans over, looking into Benji’s eyes. They’re red, but Joel doesn’t know if the color is from the alcohol, or from the things that Benji is thinking.

“Just tell me,” He murmurs, voice soft.

Their gaze steady, Benji blinks once and then says, “No. I didn’t.”

“I never expected you to change,” Joel whispers, still touching the inside of Benji’s elbow. His grip tightens before he lets go, and pulls back. Sits in the pile of white blankets, watching Benji’s face. “I always thought you would, though.”

Benji nods, and moves away. “I know.”

 

IX. The Last Moment  
 _But we’ll never fall apart._

“You,” Benji murmurs, pulling away to wipe at one eye with the palm of his hand. He tries to slip the action unnoticed and past Joel, but Joel knows. He knows because he’s doing the same thing. Benji forces an unsteady smile and says, “I’ll… I’m going to miss you.”

_I know._

…

Benji has no choice but to step back into the party once it begins to pour with rain, sheets that fall out of the sky and land on the ground in buckets. The warm air hits him in the face like a punch, but the first thing his eyes focus in on is Joel, standing beside some young diagnostics guy that Benji remembers meeting at the firm for the first time a few weeks ago.

He reaches for another flute (fucking flute) of ginger ale, grapeless this time, and watches the two of them. Looks at them, studies the easy smile on Joel’s blurry face. And they go together, they fucking go together. Benji’s sure Joel’s friends love him.

And sober reality has never stung more.

…

“He’s nice,” Benji says over the deli tray, after he’s cornered himself between two vegetable platters and can see Joel coming too close in his peripheral vision.

Joel glances up, not startled, a half smile on his face. “Yeah. Charlie’s nice.”

“ _Charlie_?” Benji gapes, trying not to laugh.

Smirking, Joel reaches across for an oddly shaped baby carrot, and studies it for a moment before biting the end off. He chews and swallows, and then replies, “He’s English. From Cornsomething.”

“I think you should introduce us,” Benji decides, taking a sip of ginger ale. Joel’s eyes flicker down to the glass, and Benji knows what he’s thinking. Ginger ale.

When he knows he’s been caught, Joel looks back up at Benji and grins crookedly. His voice is small and ridiculing as he says, “Are you crazy? Hey Charlie, meet my ex-boyfriend Benji. We broke up because he was an alcoholic and couldn’t deal.” Joel smirks. “Yeah I’m sure that’d work out nicely.”

“Have you been to therapy recently?” Benji asks, eyebrows furrowed and all faux interest as he pops a hip out and holds his drink funny. Joel rolls his eyes and eats the rest of his baby carrot. “That sounds an awful lot like something you’d say in therapy.”

Joel swallows and manages a, “Yeah? You’d only know that if you went there yourself.”

“You make it sound like a mental institution,” Benji smiles.

Half shrugging, Joel reaches for another carrot. Glances over his shoulder at the few people who are floating around them before he buries it in the massive bowl of ranch dip sitting between the cheese and meat platters. He glances up at Benji and catches his pensive smirk. 

“So is it safe to ask you what you’re doing now?” Benji questions, setting his drink down on the edge of the table. Joel’s managed to locate a napkin and he’s wiping his hands, but it doesn’t take a second for Benji to zero in on the silver ring wrapped around his middle finger.

Joel deadpans, “I’m a male stripper, but a prostitute on the side.”

“Really.”

Breaking and smiling, Joel throws the napkin onto the table. “Nope.”

“Yeah? I didn’t think so.”

Joel looks half amused as he starts to poke around the rest of the vegetable tray, looking for something else to eat. Benji always hated buffets like this, they’ve been at every single business function he’s had to go to in the last two years. He always felt so contrived picking through them.

“I could be, though. If I wanted to,” Joel finally says, only half paying attention.

Benji smirks and shrugs, pauses to throw back the rest of his drink before he says, “Yeah. You could.”

“So you went back to school I take it?” Joel smiles.

Something like a hybrid of a grimace and a scowl comes across Benji’s face for a second as he glances over in Joel’s general direction.

“Fabulous Washington State,” He says, voice flat. Joel smirks and raises his eyebrows as Benji raises his empty glass in a mock toast to himself. “Bachelors in Business Administration. Boring, huh?”

Joel shakes his head and turns away from the table. “Not boring. Just practical.”

“Practically boring,” Benji snorts. When Joel doesn’t say anything else he glances across the room in the direction to where he last saw Charlie, doesn’t even realize that he’s done it until it’s too late. When he looks back at Joel, he can see the words practically playing across his eyes. It doesn’t take him a second to ask, “So are you happy?”

Joel looks across the room to Charlie, who’s talking to one of Benji’s major accounts. And Benji should be over there saying something, saving his own ass from the younger, tighter, better version of himself. But for the moment he can’t bring himself to care.

Glancing back at Benji, Joel smiles softly and says, “Charlie’s nice.”

“Charlie’s safe,” Benji supplies, his mouth twitching into a grin at the ends. Joel looks up from where he’d busied himself in the cracker platter that matches the vegetable tray, and his eyes are wide and surprised.

He takes control of the situation faster than Benji expected him to.

“I almost forgot you, Benji,” Joel says, his voice quiet and soft under the sound of a mellow piano, played by some nameless jazz singer in the corner of the ballroom. Benji meets his gaze and holds it level, watches Joel’s face as he pauses and chews his bottom lip for a second. “And I don’t regret that. Not for one second. I don’t regret you, or what we had. Just don’t make me fall again.”

Joel pauses once he’s done and is quiet, as though double checking the words he just spoke before he nods and reaches for a grape. He picks one off of the platter before turning around and disappearing into the crowd, leaving Benji breathless behind him.

Benji runs a hand through his hair, and shakes his head. It’s so crowded all of a sudden.

It’s getting late. And, rattled, he uses that as an excuse to leave.

…

_“Do you love me, Benji?” Joel laughs, pushing him back against the mattress by the shoulders. Benji smirks and falls back against the hardwood floor, his heavy boots kicked off a few feet away, Joel’s light jacket thrown over the back of his desk chair. Joel reaches forward and pushes Benji’s hat tighter onto his head, and for a second, Benji’s vision is obscured. “Huh? Have you fallen in love with me yet? I’m irresistible, you know.”_

_Benji laughs and pulls the hat off of his head, reaches across to set it on Joel’s instead. It’s a little too big and slips down, and for a second all that Benji can see is that smile._

_“I’m completely enamored,” Benji whispers, smiling when Joel leans down to press his open mouthed grin against the side of Benji’s face. His arm goes up and wraps around Joel’s shoulders, the three AM moon light streaming in through the dusty window. A night spent, full of booze and spinning cheap vinyl on the bar’s record player. “But love is a strong word for the first night.”_

_Joel shakes his head and pulls back, settling himself on the sharp bones of Benji’s hips, reaching down to undo the buckle of his belt. Benji watches. “No. I know I love you,” He says, then pauses to slide his palms from Benji’s belt, up his stomach and across his chest. His fingers curl over Benji’s shoulders, and he lurches forward, raising his eyebrows. “In fact? I’m sure of it.”_

_“Yeah? You’re sure, huh?” Benji whispers, pressing his hips up into Joel’s._

_Smiling, Joel leans down and rests his forehead against Benji’s temple, smells the booze on his breath and remembers kissing him warm through the alcohol. He presses his mouth against the corner of Benji’s, lips open as he nods and then whispers, “Yeah.”_


End file.
